


Let no man put asunder

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: smut_tuesdays, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-30
Updated: 2009-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're my wife.  That's what matters."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let no man put asunder

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: S4, post-"A Disquiet Follows My Soul"  
> A/N: This was for [**smut_tuesdays**](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_tuesdays/), but then I was iced in and powerless for several days, so you get it now. I wish this would happen on the show; alas, it will not. Thanks to [**cujoy**](http://cujoy.livejournal.com/) for pointing out that Sam's eyes are blue.  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

She wouldn't have even gone to Sam except that she was running blind after that fiasco with Gaeta and she rounded a corner and there was her skin job husband, catching her against his chest as she barreled into him. He was fresh from the flight deck, tousled and sweaty, still wearing his flight suit. The zipper scratched her knuckles as she tried to squirm away.

"Kara, hey, whoa." He held her tighter as she fought against him. "Kara. What's wrong?"

"What isn't wrong?" she snapped. "My husband's a frakkin' Cylon. Earth is a frakkin' dead end hell hole. The whole fleet's talking mutiny while the President's AWOL and to top it all off, Dee's lying in the morgue. Let go of me."

"It's not your fault," he said, still holding her by the shoulders, ducking his head to look into her eyes. Good old Sam, earnest as always in that way that made her want to clock him, blue eyes full of worry again because of her. She looked away, biting her lip. What was behind his eyes? A head full of wires? What was in her brain, if she was ashes out there in the marsh?

"Let me go," she said again, struggling. Gods, his grip was like steel. When had he gotten that strong? Latent programming, maybe.

"No," he said. "There's something else." He studied her. "Where were you? You didn't come back with the rest of us. You weren't here when Dee shot herself."

"Good, then you're not accusing me of pulling the trigger," she bit out. "Gods, Sam, how petty do you think I am? Gaeta's trying to take down the fleet from the inside and apparently, his little crush on me hasn't quite canceled out his vendetta about that time I almost airlocked him, so I think I've got bigger things on my mind than figuring out my share of guilt in my lover's ex-wife's suicide."

Sam flinched but didn't release her. "We need to talk."

"You and I have nothing to talk about," she hissed.

"Don't do this," he said, and something in his voice made her meet his gaze. There wasn't any red light there, just hurt and concern and a flicker of that flame that always came into his eyes when he was looking at her. The tightness in her chest eased a fraction, pressure evening out inside her head like pulling out of combat maneuvers with the flight deck lining up smooth and sweet through her windshield. "Kara, please."

"Fine," she said shortly, and dragged him into the nearest head, all wound up again, kicked out of alignment. She spun the lock home behind them. The good thing about the crew not giving a frak anymore was that the head was empty the way the corridors had been. She leaned back against the row of sinks as he shrugged out of the top of his suit. "Talk."

"I didn't know," he said, hooking his thumbs into the unzipped waist of his jock smock. "Not until you came back. None of us did." There were too many mirrors. She couldn't escape his sad-puppy expression, Sams everywhere she looked. Were there copies of him somewhere? Copies of her? Did all the Sams love her? Did she always betray them? She shook her head.

"What, like Boomer? You didn't know until you tried to kill everyone?" Her voice was sharp to her own ears.

"Maybe like Boomer," he said. "We don't know how it works. But I'm not programmed, Kara, I swear to you. I'm not gonna snap. I've never blacked out like Boomer did. I never sabotaged anything. Not even the Cylons knew about us. The other Cylons, I mean." He got quiet. "I don't know what I am. All those memories of growing up - and now I have all these memories of Earth - I don't know what's real. Only since I met you, that's real." He ran a hand through his hair. "I trust you a hell of a lot more than I trust myself."

"Well, you shouldn't," she said, and she couldn't keep her voice from shaking. "Because the gods only know what came back from Earth in my plane, Sam."

"What are you talking about?" His face crinkled up in confusion.

"I was with Leoben on Earth," she said. "Looking for the Colonial transponder that brought us here. It was my signal. The transponder from my smashed-to-hell Viper with my smashed-to-hell corpse inside it." She shoved trembling fingers into her pocket and pulled out the extra tags. "Look." She wrenched at the ones around her neck, holding both sets out for his inspection. He came a few careful steps closer, touching a finger to the identical rings.

"What does it mean?"

"I'll be frakked if I know, but I pulled my own dead body out of my own plane and even Leoben is scared of me and what the frak does that mean?" Her voice broke. She dropped her hands to her sides. The tags clinked against her leg. She wanted to drop them to the floor but she stuffed them back in her pocket instead.

Sam stepped forward. "Hey." He touched her face with gentle fingertips and she winced away. "Kara, look at me. If you're a Cylon, it's not the end of the world. Maybe you were here, on Earth, before. Maybe it was you in my memories."

"Yeah, well, if I'm a toaster, I guess it doesn't make a difference to you," she spat. "Probably makes you happy. If I'm a skin job, then it's destiny, right? You and me and little toaster babies, and maybe this time I won't leave you, because frak-up Starbuck is one thing, but nobody else wants skin job Starbuck, and no wonder she was always crazy."

Sam ignored her. "Have you told anyone?"

"Gods, Sam, who the frak can I talk to? Lee won't look at me, the Old Man's got enough on his plate, and I can't face Helo and Athena."

"Me," he said. "You can talk to me."

She laughed bitterly. "You don't have half a clue what's happening to me. Not unless that Cylon brain came with a whole lot of extra security clearance and blueprints. If Baltar weren't so frakking busy sulking in his hidey hole, I'd talk to him. But I've got a few bigger things on my mind right now, so your expert advice is gonna have to wait."

Sam took her by the shoulders. "I may not be a scientist or a strategist or any kind of expert on anything but handling a ball, but I know what you're going through, Kara. I know how it feels when your whole life turns upside down."

"No, you don't!" she shouted. "Because you _know_, Sam. You knew, right? One minute you're walking along, happy human, and then click, the next minute you know you're a Cylon and it's all been a lie. But you _know_. A switch got flipped or a program started running and it told you what you are. I don't know. I don't have the first frakking idea about what I am or who I am or what the frak I've done. You might as well get away from me before I break your neck or mine."

"That's not gonna happen," he said. "I'm not gonna let that happen."

"Yeah, you've got so much control over your life," she said. "Just get away from me, Sam, as far as you can. Everything I touch turns out frakked."

"I'll take my chances. You're my wife, Kara. I'm not afraid of you."

"Usually it's 'til death do us part'," she snapped. "I _died_, Sam, or close enough. Consider us parted."

"I'm not gonna do that either," he said. "You're alive as far as I see it. My vows still hold."

"You dumb toaster, you don't even know what you married." She jerked away and he followed her. She braced her arms against the sink and stared at her reflection: wild eyes, greasy hair, tattoos like smears of dirt. Sam leaned on one hip on the sink next to hers. She could see his half of their wedding tattoo on his bicep; it bulged as he crossed his arms.

"You told me back on Caprica that you were good as your word."

"Obviously I'm no good," she bit out. "You must be a slow learner. So much for me, so much for my word. So much for our half-assed sham of a marriage."

"Maybe neither of us knew what we were marrying," he said quietly. "Or maybe it just didn't turn out the way we hoped. I'm not stupid, Kara. I knew you weren't marrying me for me, I knew you had a thing for Lee, I knew that maybe you just weren't the marrying type. I said the vows anyway, and I don't take them back. I don't care who you are or what you are or what you're not. You're my wife. That's what matters."

"Easy for you to say. You've got nothing to lose," she snarled. "Plus, you're the big man, savior of the Cylons."

"Not easy," he corrected. "I was the laughingstock of the fleet before, because every godsdamn knuckledragger knew better than me where you were. Now no one will look at me because they're all afraid that I'll...I don't even know. But I don't give a damn about any of it. Only about you. I don't care how I'm wired. I'm the same man I ever was. I keep my word the same. I love you the same. You know, maybe it is destiny, but what it feels like is missing you."

She pushed back, staring up at him. The wing on his arm flexed as he shifted. She remembered going under the needle together, hands clasped, grinning at each other through the pain. She remembered pressing herself up against him, lining up the rings, making something better, a whole out of two pieces. Sam was good. Sometimes he was too good, driving her crazy the same way Lee always had, but he'd been good to her when the world hadn't cared. He'd offered her the strength of his body, comfort and protection, even as she shoved him away. That mattered more than circuits and wires and programming. He might not be human, but he was a person. It wasn't just survival instincts that made Athena stay with Helo or Sam follow her. Sam had felt like home, about as much as anyone ever had. Sam didn't push her to be something she wasn't, just tried to find the better parts of her. Sam was still standing there after everything and she was suddenly so godsdamn tired of standing alone.

"Prove it," she said.

"Prove what?"

"Prove that you're the same," she said, stepping closer. "Prove that we're the same. Prove that you've still got faith in that."

He leaned down slowly, pausing for a second as their faces came closer. She looked up at him, waiting, yearning. Gods, it seemed like so long since she'd touched anyone. A lifetime ago, maybe. He let out a quick deep breath and kissed her hard. She threw her arms around his neck automatically and melted into him. She kissed him back, fierce, her tongue insistent against his, her teeth nipping at his lips, and he held her and kissed her back, his lean body shivering against her. He felt the same as every time, the same as the first time, and suddenly she didn't even care if the sparks between them were because of chemistry or some godsdamn mechanism.

It still felt like love, the way he held her.

If this was destiny, she surrendered. If this wasn't love, the flame in her, the flame in him, if it was only some godsdamn lines of code setting off a chemical reaction, then she was never going to know anything better. He was the last thing she had left. Gods, if Sam didn't love her, she had nothing. She ripped the zipper of his flightsuit the rest of the way down and pushed it off his hips, tearing at his shirt, needing his skin under her hands. She hooked her leg around his, pushing the suit down his calves with her feet, her hands mapping the familiar contours of his back. He was grappling with her buttons, hasty but careful, fumbling her out of her fatigues and yanking her tanks over her head. She was whimpering, needy, clutching at him. He stripped off her bra and wrapped his arms around her and just held her to his chest, skin on skin the same as it had ever been, hot and sweet. They both sighed. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her ears. She held her face up to his warmth like she was basking in the sunlight, kicking off her shoes.

"Kara," he breathed, holding her face.

"Make me believe, Sam," she said, and dragged his head down. He was warm and real against her. He smelled like Sam. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and he tasted like Sam. The little hairs on his chest prickled against her breasts as he leaned against her and it felt like Sam. She rubbed against him, wanting the friction, and he slid down her body, pressing kisses between her breasts and down her belly, his fingers undoing the buttons of her trousers and pushing them down along with her panties. She reached behind herself, hands groping for support, and found the sink. The edge of it bit into her back as Sam rubbed his raspy cheek gently along her inner thigh and all her muscles tightened. Her head rolled back until the light was bright in her eyes, but she couldn't look away. She could feel the tip of his tongue dabbling along the crease of her leg; his fingertips parted her folds, and his lips followed them. She clutched the sink and tried to keep her knees from buckling, panting, warm liquid pleasure washing through her body. His tongue traced the slippery contours of her and pushed inside; he hummed with satisfaction as she gasped, a keening noise starting in her throat. He sucked at her folds until she was fighting to stay on her feet, panting so hard her chest almost hurt. Her body was dissolving, bones and veins and muscles melting inside her skin, and when Sam pushed two long fingers inside her and kissed the knot of nerves, she yelped, startled by the rattle of bone as her body shook, and he was up in a flash, pressing his thigh hard between her legs, capturing her mouth with his. He held her against him, kissing her as she shuddered, and she kissed him like the world was ending again, holding his ear and his shoulder, hissing as his fingers pushed inside her and her muscles clenched again. She was going to shake apart, only he was holding her together, his big arm wrapped all the way around her, his fingers splayed over her ribs, pressing her to his steady body until she could feel the blood pounding in his chest, his hip, his thigh, and still his fingers worked, wringing her out, heating her blood until it boiled, finding again and again the spot that made her come undone.

"Oh, gods, _Sam_," she said, the only words she could find in the haze of heat, his name a fixed nav point out of the wild light of the storm.

"Maybe you'll remember," he murmured. "Maybe you'll remember when I played for you, Kara, and in the whole crowd, you knew I was singing for you, because you looked at me and you smiled like you'd never seen another man. Just like on Caprica, when you swung down that hill like an avenging angel and carried us all home."

"I remember enough," she gasped, and grabbed his wrist. "Gods, I was cruel to marry you, but Sam, I wasn't lying."

"I know," he said, and kissed her, his mouth hungry and sweet. She could feel his cock nudging her belly, hot and sleek, smooth as satin. She wanted him inside her, wanted to feel him pushing against her, wanted his muscles flexing with hers. He kissed her shoulder, tender as their wedding night, but tender wasn't what she wanted. She pushed him away far enough that she could kneel in front of him and took his cock in her fist. Her other palm ran down the back of his thigh, relishing the flicker of tension in his muscles. She dipped her head and ran her tongue up the underside, flattening the tip of her tongue so that her saliva slicked the skin and her lips didn't catch. He swore under his breath, gripping the sink, leaning over her. She kissed the base of his cock, the length of it hot against her cheekbone, twitching as she let her fingers play over his thigh and his balls. She licked her lips and took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around his shaft. She could feel the blood thrumming through him and she let that pulse set the rhythm as she lapped at his head, swallowing down the salt taste of him. She loosened her throat and pushed until his curls tickled her nose, the musky scent of him urging her on.

"Kara, stop," he said, his voice rough, and a thrill ran through her as he gripped her arm and pulled her up. He kissed her, hard and hungry, and she pushed back like she wanted to crawl into his mouth. Her back bent as he pulled her against him, pressing her down with the force of his kisses as she pushed up. She stumbled backwards, needing a wall, needing something. She grabbed his hips and dragged him along into the shower stalls, twisting the faucet just for fun. Cold water shot out in a spray over their hot skins and she laughed as he shoved her up against the wall.

"Frak me," he swore, "frak, Kara, that's cold."

"Warm us up," she said, twisting against him, bracing her shoulders against the wall and hooking her leg up over his hip, reaching for his cock as he bent his knees to meet her. The water was lukewarm now, the spray hard enough to sting, and she ran her free hand down his slick arm, wrapping her fingers around his tattoo. She guided him in with her other hand and he shoved his hips against hers, both of them groaning as he settled in. Gods, he felt like the beginning of the world, just the way he always had. Maybe nothing else about them worked, but this, this connection, this coming together, had always felt like they were something greater than the sum of their parts. He rested his forehead against her shoulder. She rolled her hips against his, still adjusting, lining up all the right spots until he turned his face into her neck and sucked at her throat, right over the artery, hard enough to leave a bruise. Her back arched and she swore as his teeth worked against her skin.

"That's it," she said. "Come on, Sam, show me."

He lunged into her, pulling halfway out and then shoving her up against the wall. The metal was cold and smooth under her shoulder blades. She flattened her back as best she could, clutching at him. He ducked his head, slipping almost all the way out, and kissed her breasts, his tongue hotter than the water. His teeth caught gently at her nipple and she hissed. He squeezed her other breast, his big hand cupping the curve of her, flicking at her nipple with his thumb, just rough enough to make her tingle. She slid her hands down to his ass and pulled at him, trying to urge him back in, and he pushed against her, leaning back so that he could still handle her breasts, his hips pinning hers to the wall. The whole stall was slick, the air turning into steam as the water heated up. He hit that spot inside her and her body bucked. Her head touched the wall and she jammed it back, biting her lip, trying not to squeal. He kept thrusting into her, watching her face. His eyes held her. She couldn't look away.

"Stay with me," he said, his voice urgent, frakking her through the clutch of her muscles, holding her breast and her hip.

The spray beat against them, almost scalding now, and Sam reached out with one hand and twisted it off. Kara gasped in the heavy steam, choking on pleasure and the thick air. Her moans caught in her throat as her head tipped back even more. Her back arched and Sam slipped one arm around her, holding her up, holding her to him, pushing against her. Every muscle in her body was quivering around him. He was the one sure thing, the one steady point in the slippery, shivering world, his voice and his hands all she could remember.

"Kara," he gasped. "Gods, Kara, sweetheart." She was a comet, a streak of light across the sky. Sam's lips burned her skin; his hands held her up; he was flying with her, her wing, keeping her steady, setting her aflame. She squealed and panted his name as he found that spot again, filling her up, his shape against her like nobody else's, so that she couldn't mistake him even with her eyes closed.

"Please," he said, and she came apart at the seams. She was the angel of glory, just like he'd said, her body turned to flame, her soul outside her skin. She raked her hands down Sam's back and he grunted, shoving against her until she could feel the cracks in the wall against her spine.

"Kara," he said, her name tearing out of his throat. She clutched him close, feeling him pulsing inside her, holding him hard against her. He half-collapsed, pinning her to the wall, and she welcomed the hot, sweaty weight of him, the realness of him in the surreal nightmare of her life. He panted into her shoulder, dropping kisses against her neck, and for once, she didn't push him away. She licked at a drop of water on his shoulder, squeezing her eyes against the prickle of tears. He reached out and batted at the faucets until the spray came back on, the perfect temperature, sluicing away the sweat.

The sweat was real. It had to be. Sam was the same. Sam was safe. She felt more alive than she'd felt in days. If it wasn't blood in her veins, if it wasn't love that made her tremble and sniffle in his arms, at least with him she was as human as she'd ever be. He'd take her circuits and all, or bone and guts if that's what she was.

"Maybe Pythia was right," he mumbled in her ear, the brush of his lips making her shiver. "Maybe all this has happened before. But gods, Kara, if it's a mistake, I'll keep making it. I'll help you. We'll fix this."

She tightened her arms around him, Sam, her last ally, her anchor at the end of the world.


End file.
